Children Disowned By Time
by twistedwonderland101
Summary: We all know Lucina and the band of young warriors who followed her back to the past in hopes of preventing the dire future they came from, from happening. We know their personalities and the hardships they faced when their parents died. But do we really know how they truly felt when their family members died one-by-one? Now we will.
1. Owain

**A/N:** I recently started playing Fire Emblem: Awakening on my 3DS, which I received on Christmas, and I _fell in love_ with the future children. It's a little disappointing that they don't expound more on what they went through in their supports with their parents, though I have heard of the _Future Past_ DLC and I'm hoping to get that at some point. But the point of this story is that it's more of a series of short-stories on each of the future children and how I pictured the deaths of their parents to play out. Some of the deaths are hinted from certain support conversations, others are some that I came up on the spot. I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it (and playing the game for it)!

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><p><span><strong>The Scion of Legend<strong>

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><p><em>"Why?! Why did you take that arrow for me?! You could have died!"<em>

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><p>"Father, watch as I dispatch my foe with a new attack that I have developed!" yelled Owain, who raised his sword high above his head with a <em>"heroic"<em> grin on his face. The wind blew his dark brown hair slightly and his blue eyes shone with determination.

Standing across from him in the vibrant green field was his father, standing tall and proud as he always is. His father was a man of few words, a myrmidon with unprecedented skill, a hero - and Owain wanted nothing more than to be like him. Owain inherited his father's dark brown hair and followed in his footsteps as he trained to be a myrmidon himself. Owain was almost a spitting image of his father (even wearing similar myrmidon garb, only his was yellow, while his father's was a dark blue), if it weren't for his bright blue eyes and his loud, eccentric attitude - all of which he inherited from his mother, Lissa.

To Owain, his father was a man who could never be defeated so easily.

His father smirked at him as he gave his son his full attention. "Alright. Show me what you can do."

With a confident grin, Owain pointed his sword at the wooden dummy that he had set up in front of him. "Tremble in fear, villain! For you face the mighty Owain in great combat! Pray to the gods that your end shall be swift as my sword hand-"

"Owain," his father interrupted Owain's prepared monologue. "Cut the theatrics and show me the move."

Biting back a complaint, Owain calmed himself and took the stance that his father had taught him, the same stance that his father always used in battle, and poised himself to strike. He took a deep breath as he yelled, "RADIANT...DAAAAAAWN!" and struck the wooden dummy with great speed, surging forward until the dummy was behind him. Slowly, the wooden figure collapsed - sliced cleanly in half.

"Ha-ha! Father, did you see that? I sliced it in-"

A slight rush of wind and in the blink of an eye, Owain's father was standing in front of him with his back facing him and his arms spread out wide.

Owain stared at his father with wide eyes. "F-Father?"

The man said nothing, and without warning, Owain watched helplessly as his father collapsed to the ground; an arrow protruding from his chest.

"Father!" Owain knelt down to his father's side and called out at the top of his lungs. "Mother! _Mother, help!_"

The front door of their home slammed open as a petite woman with unruly blonde hair came rushing out, staff in hand. "Owain? Honey, what's wro-" Lissa took one look of the man crumpled on the ground next to her son and she paled. "Lon'qu?!" She rushed to her husband's side and quickly pulled the arrow out of her husband's chest.

Tears were welling up in Owain's eyes as he saw the blood on his father's chest. "Father...he shielded me and-" He bowed his head and bit back his cries.

Lissa wasted no time in casting a Mend over her husband's wound, but nothing happened. The wound didn't close.

"W-what?" Lissa tried again, and again, and again. Nothing. "No... No! Why isn't it working? My staff is broken, but it won't...i-it won't heal!"

Owain just watched, feeling completely and utterly powerless as his mother continued to try to heal his father, but to no avail.

Lissa tried again, only to be stopped by her husband, who grabbed her wrist - his grip weaker than it usually was. "Risen archer...in the trees," he gasped. "There will...be more soon. Lissa...take Owain...and go...to Ylisse. You'll...be safe." His eyes slowly shut and his breath came to a stop, his hand falling limp against his side.

Owain stared at his father's body, praying to the gods that his father was only unconscious and not really dead. But hearing his mother's despair-filled sobs, he knew that what he thought would be impossible, had happened. His father was dead.

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><p><em>"Let me show you my finest weapon of all! ...It's actually just a piece of a staff. But I named it "Lissa". You were holding it when you... Well, it's my greatest treasure."<em>

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><p>He didn't know how it happened, he wished he could've stopped it, but he knew he couldn't. The situation had been simple: Defend a nearby village near Ylisse from a relatively moderate sized group of Risen. Owain had volunteered himself to go, eager to prove himself to both the original remaining members of the Shepherds and to his friends. But more importantly, he wanted to prove himself to his mother.<p>

Ever since the day his father died, his mother kept him close - too close for comfort. Owain knew she meant well, that her constant coddling was reasonable. But if he allowed himself to be kept away from the fighting, he wouldn't be able to grow stronger to protect his friends and his family. Owain couldn't bear to sit idly, knowing that there was something he could do to aid the world - to be a hero like his father; which is why he insisted on tagging along with the Shepherds on this particular mission.

But when they arrived at the village, the number of Risen was much larger than they had anticipated. A simple mission ended up becoming a fight for their lives. And while Owain was enraptured in battle, he had allowed the worst possible thing to happen.

He allowed his mother to become a target.

A Risen barbarian struck her down with an axe. The large weapon had shattered his mother's staff, cut into her skin and sent her to the ground in a bloody heap. Owain was able to dispatch the monster quickly, but he wasn't fast enough to come to his mother's aid.

And now, here he was, clutching onto her pale body - his mother, clinging to life as she slowly bled out.

"Mother, just hold on!" He begged, his eyes brimming with tears. "Brady! Brady, where are you?! My mother has been wounded!" Owain scanned the battlefield for the rugged red-haired priest, but he was nowhere to be seen and his mother didn't have much time.

"Owain...stop," she said weakly; her voice just an echo of her usually loud, energetic tone. "It's...it's okay. It's alright. Everything...will be alright." She clutched his hand in a weak grip.

He looked at her and sobbed. She was covered in her own blood; her blue eyes were beginning to lose their shine. "No, no it's not! Mother...Mother, _please_," he begged, "Please don't leave me."

Lissa gave him a small smile, took a shaky breath and pushed something into the palm of his hand. "You...you've grown up to be a strong...kind man and a skillful warrior." She was crying too. "Your father...he would've...been so proud of you."

Her eyes were beginning to close and her grip on his hand was going slack. She was dying. He was going to lose his only parent. "Mother, no," he said. "Just hold on. _Please._"

But she was already gone. Her blue eyes were shut and her hand went limp. Owain felt numb, the same feeling from when he lost his father. Only this time, it felt much worse.

"Owain!"

Someone was calling his name, but he didn't bother to look up. All he could do was stay kneeling on the ground, his teary eyes fixated on his mother's cold corpse.

"Owain!" Inigo grabbed Owain's shoulder and forced the brunet to face him. "There's too many Risen surging through and there'll be more if we stay here! We have to retreat!"

"But," Owain looked at his mother's body again. "But Mother...her body... I can't leave her behind. I have to bury her..."

A flash of sympathy passed over Inigo's face, but it quickly faded into a serious one. "Owain, we need to go. _Now_. I understand, hell, _we all_ do! But if we stay any longer, we'll be dead by sundown. Your mother protected you all this time and so did your father. Don't let their sacrifice got to waste."

Inigo was right; Owain knew that, but to leave his mother's body behind? He glanced at his mother's face for the last time and nodded his head at Inigo. He took the blonde's hand and got back up on his feet; the two of them retreating from the battlefield with the others, whoever else survived.

By the time they reached safety, Owain walked away from the group, needing some time alone to grieve, and no one stopped him. All of the others - Inigo, Lucina, Laurent, and the other children of some of the past Shepherds - knew what it was like to lose their parents. They knew he needed some space.

Once he was alone, he glanced at what his mother had placed in his hand just before she died. He took one look and tears fell from his eyes.

She had given him a piece of her shattered staff, and her wedding ring.

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><p><strong>AN: **I hope you enjoyed Owain's segment. The next one will most likely be Brady or Inigo. I think it's obvious who Owain's father is (I stated his name, of course you know.) I actually S supported Lon'qu and Lissa _completely_ by accident, but I actually ended up liking it. The support was really cute and when I recruited Owain and found out that he was a myrmidon like Lon'qu, it was just _perfect!_ If you liked what you read, feel free to leave me a comment in the reviews. If you have something else to say, type that down too (Especially if you want to talk FE:A. I'd love that!) Just no hate, please. I accept constructive criticisim, but rude comments are a no-go.  
><em>THANK YOU! :)<em>


	2. Inigo

**A/N:** After a _very_ long hiatus, I've finally come back to . School has been _extremely_ hectic as of late, mainly because of the fact that it's almost graduation season for the high school seniors. This also means _I_ will be graduating and I've been spending most of my time studying for college entrance exams. But in-between my Spartan-esque education, I managed to squeeze in some time to play more Fire Emblem: Awakening and get some inspiration to write more of these short-stories based off of the 2nd generation Shepherds. This short story is Inigo-centric and focuses on how he felt on losing both of his parents in the future that he'd came from. Inigo is one of my _favorite_ future kid - he's up there with Owain, Gerome and both Morgans (Male and Female). At first, I thought he was annoying - being the one of those flirtatious characters that I dislike - but his Supports with his parents revealed more to his character that I grew to love. (Mainly because I have a weakness for sensitive men who can cry at the drop of a hat.) So writing this short-story about him was a pleasure, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it

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><p><span><strong>A Man for Flowers<strong>

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><p><em>"You may think me a dandy and a fool, but a lot of people depended on me in the future. Every day, I was out there fighting Risen and risking my life. With everyone looking to me to be strong, I had no choice. I HAD to be invincible. I couldn't complain or show any weakness. Not with everyone else struggling in that damn war-torn wasteland... Even with you and Mother gone, I had to pretend I was fine. That I wasn't hurting. I had to fight every day of my sorry life and wear a smile while I did it!"<em>

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><p>"Inigo, you don't have to distribute the rations to the refugees tonight! You just came back from a battle! I know you must be tired. Rest, and let me do it instead."<p>

The blonde mercenary smiled down at the azure-haired princess. "Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I skip out on my duties and hand them off to a battle-worn princess?" He hefted up one of the boxes of rations that they had managed to salvage in today's battle. "Now if you'll excuse me, Lucina."

Lucina, however, remained defiant. She pressed her hand against the box, halting Inigo mid-step. "Inigo, _please_," Her eyes shone with concern. "I know what happened today out in the battlefield."

The mercenary tensed, his smile slowly fading from his face. Of course _she_ knew. Laurent must've reported to her immediately after they had dispatched the last of the Risen in the area.

He forced the smile back onto his face. "Lucina, I'm fine. I swear it."

"No. You're not. Inigo, no one is _"fine"_ after their own father dies!"

He quickly side-stepped around the princess of Ylisse and ran further into the village. Behind him, he could hear Lucina calling his name but it quickly faded as the distance grew between the two of them. When he was sure that Lucina was far enough away from him, he slowed down to a brisk walk. His smile immediately dropped from his expression and his brown eyes dulling.

The battle that day had taken a turn for the worst - at least, it did for Inigo. Everyone else had no difficulties, no losses and cut through the Risen forces with ease. But for Inigo, it was a different story.

He and his father had been surrounded by Risen barbarians. There was too many for them to take on their own and in the midst of battle, Inigo had gotten careless and his sword arm was wounded by a Risen's axe. Wounded and unarmed, he was sure he was done for. Then, his father literally ran to his rescue.

Screaming at the top of his lungs - something he did very often - and his silver axe raised over his head, his father decimated any Risen that even dared to get close to Inigo. When there was an opening, instead of saving himself, his father had grabbed Inigo by the scruff of his shirt and _threw_ him just when more Risen came pouring in.

By the time reinforcements came in, it was already too late.

The Risen had overpowered his foolish and brave father. Brady and his mother, Maribelle, their most talented healers, couldn't save him from his wounds. And his father died. And Inigo blamed himself. Why shouldn't he? If he had only paid more attention to his surroundings, he wouldn't have gotten wounded - he wouldn't have allowed his father to rescue him!

And his father would still be standing right now.

Inigo's grip on the box of rations tightened, scraping his skin against the wood. Bitter tears built up in his eyes, but he couldn't let them fall. He had to put up a brave face for everyone - he had to smile.

"Inigo?"

The blonde boy froze. Looking up, he saw his mother standing before him. Dressed in her usual dancer's garb, her lovely pink hair blowing gently with the wind - she was as beautiful as ever. How was he going to break it to her that Father was dead because of him?

"Ah, mother!" His forced a smile back onto his face. "So nice to see you! I needed to see a pretty face after such a horrid ba-"

He was cut short when his mother suddenly wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"M-Mother? What has gotten into you? I know you probably missed me but-"

"_I know._"

Inigo froze. "What?" He laughed, though much more strained than usual. "Mother, what are you talking about? What do you know? Let me guess, you found out about that misadventure Gerome and I had at the tavern?"

Olivia pulled away from her son and Inigo suddenly became aware of her red-rimmed eyes. She had been crying. "Inigo," the way she said his name pulled at his heartstrings, "_I know_."

For a moment, there was just silence. The two dancers just stared at one another. Both bearing a great sadness inside them - though one expressed it more openly than the other.

Then, his cheerful facade just crumbled. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he held his mother close and cried with his head down and against her shoulder. Olivia didn't hesitate to squeeze Inigo closer to her and caressed his hair - tears also welling up in her dark brown eyes. With every shudder that wracked through Inigo's body, the more guilty and responsible he felt for his father's passing.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, his voice cracking in-between intervals. "I'm so sorry, Mother."

Olivia shushed him, leaning her head against his. "It's alright. My poor, brave boy, you know you don't have to keep that smile up for me. It's always alright to cry, Inigo. It's good for the heart."

And cry he did.

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><p><em>"I always used to practice beside your grave. I'd try to imagine what you'd say as you watched me. What I could fix... I'd picture how you'd tell me to speed up, or praise me when I got it right. I could hear it all in my head as I danced."<em>

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><p>At the center of a lush green forest, one of the last few remaining ones left after Grima's assault on Ylisse, was a meadow that was pluming with beautiful and fragrant flowers of all shades of color. The sun was shining bright and the sky was clear - a perfect day, a rare thing. And in that meadow, a young man danced passionately. His very heart and soul was pushed into every movement, every stretch of a limb, every lunge, and every spin. The meadow was Inigo's sanctuary and his favorite, and only, place to practice his dancing in private.<p>

The meadow was far enough away from the barracks that belonged to the Shepherds - or at least, what remained of them - to prevent any prying eyes from seeing him, yet close enough for him to come running back should danger raise its horrid head. It was also peaceful and beautiful - the perfect place for him to relax and the best place for inspiration.

Coming to a halt, Inigo wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced down. "What do you think, Mother? Did I nail the routine this time?"

The meadow was also where his mother's grave was located.

The tombstone was decorated with an array of flowers, freshly picked by the blonde mercenary. Carved on its surface was a simple and short epitaph:

_Here lies Olivia. A talented dancer, a wonderful friend and a loving mother. You will be greatly missed._

Inigo pursed his lips and nodded his head every so often, as if he were listening to someone speaking to him. "You're right. The landing on that grand jité was sloppy and I didn't extend my arms and legs straight enough at the end." He smiled at the tombstone. "You have quite the keen eye, Mother. You never fail to notice my mistakes. I just wish..."

His body began to tremble as tears welled up in his dark brown eyes - the same color that his mother's once were. "I-I just wish-" Inigo knelt down in front of the tombstone and laid one hand on its surface. "I just wish you were here with me, Mother."

It has been a month now since Olivia's passing, and Inigo still felt like he'd lost her only yesterday. Her death played clearly in his head. How she had thrown herself in front of him and shielded him from a Risen's sword. The blow had killed her instantly. Inigo never got the chance to say goodbye. And even now, after a whole _month_, he still couldn't cope.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Inigo stared at his mother's name carved into the gray stone. "Mother, this...this will probably the last time that I will be dancing here, in front of your grave." He bowed his head. "Lucina and the others, we've all decided to take up Naga's offer to use the four gemstones to go back in time, before Grima appeared and caused all of this chaos. From there, we will try to change the course of history and prevent all of this - prevent all of this death and sadness."

"I might be able to see you again."

The mercenary smiled to himself. He knew it was selfish, but the main reason why he had decided to go along with Lucina was for a chance to see his parents _alive_. He wanted to hear his father's boisterous and borderline deafening, laughter. He wanted to see his mother dance again and hear her soft voice ring through the air like wind chimes in a summer breeze. He just wanted to have his family back. Though, he knew that it wouldn't quite be the same; his parents would be younger - gods, maybe they aren't even married yet when he shows up. But to get a chance to see their faces and to hear their voices? Inigo would be a fool to decline.

But he wanted nothing more than to see the end to Grima's reign of terror, even if their mode of doing it was like nipping a rose at its bud.

"Inigo!"

The young man perked up and glanced behind him. From afar, he can barely make out Cynthia's petite form in the distance. The energetic pegasus knight had her hands cupped around her mouth as she called out again, "Inigo! C'mon! It's time to go!"

"That's my cue," he mumbled.

Inigo rose from the ground and gave one last loving look to his mother's tombstone. This would be the last time he'll ever see his mother's name on a gravestone. He'll make sure of it.

"Goodbye, mother," he whispered. "Wish me luck."

"Inigo! Hurry up or we'll leave you behind!"

"I'm coming, Cynthia! You know you can't rush perfection!"

As Inigo ran off to join his friends, he could've sworn he heard a familiar loving laugh ring in his ears.

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><p><strong>AN:** Two down, _eleven_ more to go! I've decided that I'll be writing these short stories in order of the children's Paralogues, so the next one you can expect to see is the sensitive, rogue-looking crybaby, _Brady_! I've also finished playing part 1 of _The Future Past_ DLC and I'm halfway through the second part with no casualties (yet). I'm also announcing that I may be writing a fanfiction story for my Avatar of FE:A with a _slight_ twist. So keep an eye out for that! Oh, and if you can guess who Inigo's father is, you get a hug! :D

Well, that's all I have to say on that matter. If you liked this story, feel free to leave me some feedback in the reviews and tell me your thoughts. No hate, please, cause honestly that is just a waste of time. I hope you enjoyed Inigo's segment! See you next time! ;)


	3. Brady

**A/N: **So, my Senior year has finally come to a close and summer vacation is in full throttle; meaning, I now have more time to focus on writing! Yes, _FREEDOM_ at last! So to start this all off, here is the well-awaited Brady chapter. This one was more of a challenge because, as you can see, I always use an actual quote from the future-children to differentiate which segment will start up the chapter; usually father, then mother. The problem with Brady is that he _never_ brought up a quote that's pretty solid for back-story – even in part 2 of _The Future Past DLC_. So in this one, I used two quotes that are pretty similar in meaning, but it connects with Brady's history with having being coddled by his mother and not living up to the physical standards when it comes to fighting. Hopefully I wrote it well, and I hope you all enjoy Brady's segment. I also apologize in advance if Maribelle sounds a little OOC. She's one of those characters that I find difficult to write…but I hope I wrote her well-enough for you all. (Feel free to tell me otherwise.)

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><p><strong>A Noble Lineage<strong>

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><p><em>"The you from the future smothered me, to be perfectly honest. You'd pack lunches for me, hold my hand while walkin' up stairs... You were so busy doing the heavy lifting for me that I turned into a total wimp! Ya wouldn't even let me fend for myself in the end. So next time, lemme protect YOU!"<em>

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><p>"Brady, what in the world are you doing waving around that barbaric <em>thing<em>?! Put it down this instant or you will harm yourself!"

"Aw, but, _Ma!"_ protested the young red haired boy, who clutched the wooden toy sword tightly in his hands. "All the others get to play with these and their Mas don't say nuthin'!"

Maribelle quickly closed the distance between her and her son, storming across the garden until she towered over Brady and plucked the wooden toy from the boy's grasp. She shook her head in disapproval, making her ever-so curled golden locks bounce. "Well those other children aren't raised to become noble gentleman like you are, therefore such games like _these_," she grimaced at the wooden sword that she clutched in her gloved hand, "are expected."

Brady pouted. "Gerome's a noble and his pa lets him play warrior and so does his ma."

"Gerome _is_ a noble, dearie," Maribelle corrected. "And it is _Father_ and _Mother_, not _Pa_ or _Ma_. Really, Brady, I thought we've gone over proper diction."

_"Ma!_"

"Brady! A gentleman does not raise his voice!"

"My, my," an amused chuckle halted the family feud from going any further. "Don't you two think it's too early to have such a loud argument? I swear, I heard the two of you a mile down the road."

Standing right under the rose arch that marked the entrance to Maribelle's beloved garden was a familiar mage dressed in blue robes with a matching hat of the same color that, despite his increase of height, continued to droop at the back of his red hair. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with amusement, as did the smirk that graced his handsome features. He had certainly come a long way from the young energetic mage that he once was years ago – physically speaking, that is. His attitude, however, has changed very little.

Brady's sour disposition lifted as he darted toward the man, arms wide open and smile spread out from cheek to cheek. "Pop! You're home!"

The boy was immediately swooped up into his father's arms where he was then held up high in the air, resulting in cheerful laughter from the usually moody child. Then again, why _wouldn't_ Brady's mood lighten? His father had been gone for _months_ on a campaign with the other Shepherds. He had missed his father and despite her lack of physical proof, Brady knew his mother missed him too and was just as delighted as Brady with his return.

Holding Brady close to him, Brady's father brought him down to eye-level. "What did you do this time to stoke your mother's temper, Brady? Did you get yourself filthy running around in the dirt with the other kids? Skip lessons? Chew with your mouth open?" His father had a scolding tone, but the mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. If there was one thing Brady loved about his father, it was how they both shared a love for annoying his mother Maribelle. However, this shared trait of theirs continued to the point where they would _both_ get scolded (_lectured_) by the ever-so _"dignified"_ noblewoman.

"No, Pop!" Brady replied, a grin still spread out from ear to ear.

"Oh?" His father feigned cluelessness. "Then what _did _you do?"

"Must you jest about this, dear?" Maribelle fumed, not enjoying being teased by both her husband and her son at the slightest; then again, she doesn't like being teased by _anyone_. "I was just explaining to Brady how inappropriate it is for a boy of his status to play _Barbarians_ with the other children when he should be inside continuing his violin lessons."

The young boy took offense in that. "It ain't _Barbarians_, Ma! It's playin' _Knights_ or _Warriors_, or sumthin'. And I wanted to play with the others for once! I don't wanna be stuck inside the estate all day fiddlin'."

Maribelle's face began to turn a hilarious shade of red that could rival even the color of both Brady and his father's hair, her grip tightening around her parasol – which never left her side, to be honest. "Brady…" she seethed.

"Now, Maribelle," said Brady's father, cutting-in on Maribelle's sentence to save himself, and Brady, from her unforgiving wrath. "You need to stop coddling the boy. He's at that age where he _should_ be waving around a wooden sword, pretending to be a knight, or a warrior – whatever he wants! Even _I_ played games like these with the other boys when I was a child, you know that. Chrom too, and he was the _prince of Ylisse_ for crying out loud!"

Maribelle remained defiant and calmly met her husband's gaze. "He might get hurt."

He sighed; his wife can be so stubborn, but he loves her for it. "All children get hurt while they play, Maribelle. It's not like a real battlefield." For a moment, his expression darkened, but it quickly went unnoticed by Brady, but not Maribelle, who seemed reluctant to accept that she was wrong.

He stepped closer to the prim-and-proper troubadour and held her close, not minding Brady's insistent squirming as he's pinned in-between his two parents' bodies. "Just let him have his fun, Maribelle."

"Fine," she sighed.

Brady let out a victorious cheer.

"But only if he promises to let me tag along to keep an eye on him at _all times_ whenever he does…play."

"Aw, _Ma!_"

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><p><em>"I mostly practised fightin' in the future. I never had your knack for warfare, see? Half the time, I'd wind up with an axe buried in my face or worse. Nasty stuff. But I wanted to learn how to hold my own and fight for the world ya tried to protect."<em>

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><p>"Brady, I think you need a break," said the armor-clad Kjelle. She peered down at Brady's sprawled form from when she managed to disarm him and throw him to the ground in five minutes – a new record for the both of them; time to win and time to lose respectively. Though the knight had convinced herself that she has hardened her heart against any feelings of sympathy or the like to her opponents, she couldn't help but pity Brady a bit. He wanted to get stronger – a quest Kjelle herself shares and respects – but his physical capabilities made his goal a hard one to achieve.<p>

Brady managed to get back onto his feet, albeit unsteadily, and raised the training axe in front of him in a sloppy battle position. "Nah, I'm good," he wheezed; his lungs felt like they were on fire! But he couldn't stop – not now. He had to get stronger to defend his friends and the world his Ma and Pop had died trying to protect. If he kept on taking breaks, he'd be nothing but a burden to everyone – deadweight that would only cause problems in the get-go.

Kjelle frowned; she respected Brady's dedication, but she knew better than most that sometimes too much training would do more harm than help. She grabbed Brady's training axe by the blade, which was blunt, and yanked it out of his hands with no problem.

"Hey!" Brady yelled. "Give it here!" He tried reaching for the axe, but Kjelle pushed him backward with her hand – and by push, it actually ended up as a shove, making Brady land arse first onto the dirt.

"Sorry," she mumbled, though it didn't sound like she meant it. "Listen, Brady, as much as I enjoy sparring with you," she actually doesn't, "you need a breather. You're practically on the verge of dying on your feet."

The priest gaped. "Am not!" Then he wheezed again, resulting in a harsh coughing fit.

The teal haired knight winced. "My point exactly. Now go. Eat, bathe, sleep – just allow your body to recover, Brady. No use training yourself if you end up dying midway."

Brady bit back disappointed tears – no use crying over spilled milk, his Ma used to say – and reluctantly left the white stone circle that marked one of three sparring areas of the training grounds. Almost immediately, Kjelle returned to her regular training regimen, forgetting Brady altogether. The red headed priest stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching his companions, the other second generation of Shepherds, train and spar with one another. He watched how Owain managed to disarm Inigo with a quick flick of his blade; he observed Cynthia's practice session on her aim when throwing a lance with Noire, who practiced archery right beside her, and most of all, he looked on with envy as Laurent practiced his mastery over the Elfire spell with a few wooden dummies.

He sighed, looking onto his companions, his _friends_, with a forlorn expression. Everyone was so much more capable in surviving a battle compared to him. They had skill; they had _strength_ – something Brady severely lacked. There was no one to blame for his lack of physical strength but himself – and his Ma, with all of her coddling and what-not, but that would be rude. Surrounded by all of these talented warriors, archers and mages, it made Brady feel…inadequate, useless, the list can go on endlessly.

Yes, he's technically _not_ useless – he's a _priest_, he's the group's best healer should anything go south in a fight. But at the same time, he's the group's biggest weakness. In nearly every strategy, Brady would always be dealt with first. And by dealt with, it meant a game of, _"Who's the Unlucky Soul Who Has to Pair Up with Brady?"_ And usually, the babysitting duty is given to either Inigo, Severa or Kjelle – sadly, the most common one is Severa; why? He'll never know.

Brady sighed and glanced down at the ring that hung on a steel chain around his neck. He gently cupped it in his hand and thumbed the gold band, caressing it fondly. This was his Ma's ring – the only thing Brady had that belonged to her before she and Pop died in a battle against a whole army of Risen. He doesn't know the full story himself, but he's heard snippets of what had led to their demise. They part of a defense team that was tasked to lead a caravan of refugees to Ylisstol, when the Risen ambushed them while they were crossing a steep mountain pass. They took on great casualties – both of innocent people and of the soldiers that had volunteered to defend the caravan. The first of his parents to fall was his Ma; she was healing a wounded soldier when a Risen archer managed to shoot her off of her horse. She didn't survive the wound. Then his Pop played hero, sacrificing himself to ensure that what remained of the caravan and of the small squad that they had lead would make it to Ylisstol.

Brady had only been fourteen when he had found out of his parents' demise. He was one of the lucky ones of his friends – his parents managed to live long enough to see him grow up from being a rough, rebellious child to an even more rebellious and moody teenager. But the loss was the same; the pain of losing his parents was the same and would remain the same regardless of what age he was when they died. It would still be the same lonely feeling that enveloped his entire being, like there was a gaping chasm in his heart that could never be filled. That was the pain that he felt when he found out, and it's the same pain that drove him to promise on his Ma's wedding ring, that someday he'll get stronger and protect the world from chaos and destruction until his dying breath.

It was the pain that acted as his motivation to train himself to a stupor every waking moment in his life. And gods be damned if he doesn't try.

Yeah, he wasn't good at sword-fighting or lance-work like Lucina or Kjelle, nor was he good in terms of aim like Noire. And, despite having a mage for a father, Brady didn't excel at magic. Brady may had a lot of weaknesses, it didn't mean that this was how he'll remain for the rest of his life – he was going to shape himself to become the best member of the Shepherds and ensure that this world that his parents greatly died for would remain protected and kept out of Chaos' greedy hands.

Clutching the ring tightly in his hand, Brady felt his resolve and motivation return to him in a wild rush of energy. _Don't worry, Ma and Pop_, Brady thought. _I'll make sure to get stronger and defend Ylisse and the entire world from Grima. It may take a while, but I have you know that I'm not restin' until Grima is sent back to whatever kind of hole they found him in the first place._

Pocketing the ring and chain under his dark purple robes, Brady got back up onto his feet and ran off into the training grounds. This time, he wasn't going to back out anymore. He won't be a burden to his friends anymore. Watch out world, Brady is comin' through full throttle and nothing is going to stop him. _Ever_.

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><p><strong>Note:<strong> If you enjoyed this chapter and/or if you have something you'd like to say about it, especially if it's critique, feel free to leave me a review**. **I hope you all enjoyed Brady's segment. Next up is the ever-so diligent knight, Kjelle. Thank you for reading!


	4. Kjelle

**A/N: **So I've been on quite a long hiatus over the summer and pretty much disappeared from with no warning and left my fanfics here to catch dust. I can't really say much on where I've been for the past few months, other than I have been going through some family problems. There's been a lot of drama, screaming and fighting between my family members and it really got to me to the point of depression and overall seclusion. But I've been getting better and things have calmed down quite a bit. I actually have to thank a lot of my friends, both in my actual life and internet, who've been supporting me through these tough times, and if it weren't for them, I wouldn't know what I would do. So after a long wait, I present to you, Kjelle's segment. I hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong>The Steadfast Soldier<strong>

_"Well, when I was really little, you and I used to wage mock battles. You never really gave it your all, though. Said you didn't want to 'leave a dent.' Heh. But I'm older now. How about a real match? Come on, I'm a tough cookie!"_

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><p>Today was a beautiful day. Spring had decided to come early in Ylisse, erupting color in all corners of the kingdom. Trees were beginning to bear juicy fruit, flowers of all kinds and colors were blossoming left and right in the vibrant green fields, and the wind had calmed to a gentle breeze, which carried the sweet smells of the flowers and nature into the air. Nature had finally roused itself from its long sleep as winter has finally come to pass, bringing in warmer days and bright skies. The people of Ylisse were beginning to feel the happiness that spring usually brought in full throttle, especially young Kjelle.<p>

The jade-haired girl stood tall and proud in the field just outside her home with a smile on her face. Across from her, just a few feet away, was her father, who had taken a day off from being a knight of Ylisse to spend some time with his little girl. No doubt the pair had been infected with the restlessness everyone else had gotten with the coming of spring. Standing in such a lush green field, you'd think the daughter-father duo had decided to take a nice little stroll outside to stretch their legs, maybe pick some of the freshly bloomed flowers to bring back home and present to a certain fiery red-head whom Kjelle called Mother.

If you thought that, then you _really_ don't know Kjelle at all. Picking flowers? _Pah!_ Save such a task to someone like Cynthia or Severa – not her. Taking little strolls? Kjelle doesn't take _"strolls"_. She goes on runs, taking laps around the field and back to her house at least ten to twenty times before lunch. She was the daughter of Ylisse's own Bull and Panther – the greatest knights in the royal army and in the infamous Shepherds. Strolls and flower picking don't suit her – they're a waste of time; time that could've been used to train herself to be a greater knight than her own mother and father _combined!_

In that case, what _are_ the father-daughter duo doing in the field anyway?

Well, they're sparring.

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><p>Kjelle faced her father, guard up and positioned for a good fight. In her hand was her chosen weapon, her tool to ensure that she will defeat her father in this grand battle: a ladle. It was all she could find to use as a makeshift lance, and even then, it was still far from her preferred weapon of choice. And she is still a child; she couldn't use a real lance even if she wanted to, but give her a few years and she'll be wielding one in no time. But for now, she had to settle with a ladle for a lance, despite how ridiculous it looked. But at least she didn't look as ridiculous as her father, who had taken the mock battle a lot more seriously than his small little girl.<p>

The Viridian Knight had taken it upon himself, not only to find a weapon, but to search for armor as well. And so, there he stood in all his greatness, wielding a big stick that he had found near the forest just behind their home as a replacement for his sword, a pot on his head for a helmet, and in his other hand was the pot's lid, which was to act as his shield. No doubt, her father looked more ridiculous than Kjelle. But past the ridiculousness of their chosen weaponry and armor, their expressions bore nothing but absolute seriousness. This was meant to be taken _seriously_.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Kjelle?" said her father. "It's not too late to back out, y'know."

The young girl scowled. He was taunting her, trying to get her to lose her will and run craven, but not today, not this time. She will stand vigilant and eventually, stand victorious. "I say it should be you who should back out, father."

"Oh really?" He chuckled, adjusting the pot on his head as it began to slide further down his face, taking some locks of his green hair with it. "Don't get too cocky now."

Kjelle scoffed. Now he was just playing word games. "Enough talk. Let's fight!"

She ran forward, ladle raised and bellowed a loud battle cry. She swung her weapon at her father, only to have the utensil bang uselessly against her father's impenetrable pot lid shield. Her father took this moment to swing his stick sword, missing Kjelle completely as it swung right over her head, and stumbled forward. This gave the little warrior an opening; an opening that she gladly took.

With a great yell, her body tensed and without warning, she tackled her father to the ground. He yelped with surprise before he fell into the grass with Kjelle sitting right on top of him.

"Aaah! You got me," he chuckled. When he opened his equally green eyes, he was surprised to see his daughter not smiling and cheering about how she had finally beaten him, but frowning and glaring at him instead. The knight trembled; Kjelle's glare reminded him all too well of her mother's. "What's wrong?"

Kjelle's frown deepened. "You went easy on me."

"What?"

"You. Went. Easy. On. Me." Kjelle repeated, emphasizing word for word with a nice jab of her ladle on her father's chest. "I thought I told you not to do that. I wanted this fight to be fair. I wanted it to be a fight between equals!"

Her father sighed; he was caught red-handed. "I didn't want to leave a dent on my little girl," he said with a smile.

He ruffled Kjelle's hair and for a moment, she considered batting it away, not wanting her father to be let off that easily. But the gesture was so nice and so comforting, that the thought disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

"You wouldn't leave a dent on me. I'm a tough cookie!" She replicated the furious look that she'd often see on her mother's face every time she lectured her father about bringing food onto the battlefield with him, but the look didn't look as menacing as she had hoped it would be due to her smaller size and round baby face.

Her father laughed and quickly enveloped Kjelle into a tight, warm hug. The young girl tried to fight her way out of her father's arms by flailing her arms and legs everywhere, but it was no use – her father's hold was too strong; she couldn't escape. "You're just too cute!"

"Hey! What's all the hubbub going on over here?"

"Mother!" Kjelle squirmed, until her father _finally_ released her from his grip, allowing her the freedom to bound over to her mother's side and present herself, standing tall and proud, just like her mother.

"Hey, kiddo," Sully greeted, ruffling her daughter's jade green locks affectionately. "What were you and your pops doing all the way out here?"

"Sparring," she chirped.

"Good!" Sully patted Kjelle's back, in which sparked a happy glow in the girl from her mother's praise. "Keep it up and you'll be a knight of Ylisse in no time." She turned her attention onto the green-haired man on lying on the ground and broke out into loud laughter at the sight of her husband. "And what in Naga's name are you _wearing_?"

Kjelle's father sheepishly removed the pot from his head, revealing unruly green locks. "I had to have armor to protect myself, Sully. Our daughter is quite the hard hitter, very much like you."

"Well she is _my_ daughter," Sully beamed. The red clad cavalier plucked the pot and its lid from her husband's grasp, along with Kjelle's ladle. "But seeing you with that pot on reminded me of Donnel. That kid fought every damn battle with that pot on for no reason. He could've gotten himself a regular helmet, but no – he wanted the pot."

He chuckled. "Yeah. He was rather attached to it."

Kjelle smiled softly. She always liked to hear her parents' stories about the other members of the Shepherds. "I was finally able to defeat father today in our mock battle," she declared proudly.

Sully looked at her with comically wide eyes. "You did? Geez, you're getting rusty if our six year-old daughter can send your arse to the ground." She punched his shoulder playfully, which was immediately returned.

Little Kjelle watched as her parents quickly fell into their usual routine of playful snide comments, friendly punches, and the usual roughhousing. Yes – she knew her father threw their mock battle on purpose and had let her win, but she decided to let the matter slide…for now.

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><p><em>"In the future, you and I used to train together. You were as strong as any man, and I suppose that valor rubbed off on me. I wanted to be like you—even best you one day. But then you... You were gone before I got the chance."<em>

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><p>"Come one! Hit me harder, Kjelle! A good and powerful blow is key in getting your opponent down on the ground and make it easier for you to stab at 'em! C'mon!"<p>

Kjelle was breathing heavily, her arms and legs were burning from exertion and she was drenched in sweat. The heat of the sun was bearing down on her and with her training armor on, she was feeling the brunt of it.

"Gettin' tired?" Sully asked from her side of the field. The red-head was also wearing her armor for their training session, but she showed no signs of the fatigue that plagued Kjelle.

"No," she grunted, lifting her wooden lance up. "I can still fight."

She couldn't back down now, not when she had finally convinced her mother to start training her in preparation for Kjelle's future as a knight. At first, her mother had said no, telling her that it was too early for Kjelle to get so serious about it. But the girl had insisted, going as far as even trailing after her mother everywhere she went until the haughty woman had finally agreed to it, under certain terms that is. Her terms were that Kjelle had to follow the same training regimen that she uses every day; this also meant that Kjelle's training would be _every_ day as well. There were to be no complaints, and Kjelle had to follow Sully's every command. "If you want to be knight," her mother had said, "then I'm gonna treat you as one."

Others would think her mother was cruel, but in truth, this was typical of her. Her mother had trained herself restlessly in her youth to prove herself to her family and to all the other warriors in Ylisse, mostly the men, that she had the mettle to be a knight, which eventually evolved to becoming the need to be the greatest knight in Ylisse. A feet her mother has already accomplished, and the need evolved once more into becoming Kjelle's goal – to match her mother's strength and skill and become a knight just as great as she.

Hence why Kjelle was where she is now, dressed in training armor that her mother had specifically had made for her – so that she could get used to the weight of it – and armed with a training lance made out of wood – made by her own father. Her mother had done the same thing, donning her armor and also wielding a training lance, so that whenever they sparred, it would be fair – a true test of skill. But the weather was against Kjelle today; it was unbearably hot, leaving Kjelle to be roasted alive in her own armor.

Kjelle's armor was so different compared to her mother's. While her mother wore the armor of a cavalier, Kjelle donned one of a knight or a general. It had a huge and heavy outer shell that connected to her shoulders and extended outward, circling behind her from the crook of her shoulder to her opposite, practically engulfing her. It put so much weight on her, that when she had worn it the first time around, she couldn't even stand up straight. She would've preferred armor like her mother's, but after seeing Kjelle's less than satisfactory riding skills, she had decided against it, but _that_ was a story for another time.

Sully sighed. "Kjelle, that's enough for the day. I can tell you're bone tired. Look at you! You're barely able to keep yourself upright, let alone a wooden lance."

"No!" Kjelle insisted, "I can still do this."

"No, no. That's enough."

Sully walked over to the exhausted girl and plucked the wooden lance from her fingers. Kjelle was dejected; how can she hope to be as strong as her mother, if she could barely last twenty minutes in a fight? Yes – it was unbearable hot and the heat had left Kjelle in a major disadvantage with her armor, but those are just excuses! Kjelle knew there will be times in which she would have to fight in less conditional areas, like in deserts or in heavy rain. She has to learn to adapt and persevere. There's no complaining in _real_ battles. Complaining is for wimps; Kjelle aims to be the best of the best.

"Hey, what's with that look on your face?" Sully had noticed Kjelle's odd expression. "Listen, I know you want to continue on with your training, but it's no good to work yourself ragged. You'll more likely end up dead than get stronger, if that's the case."

"I know, Mother. But I just…" She sighed.

Sully cocked an eyebrow. "You…what?"

Kjelle looked up at her mother with her eyes downcast. "I just want to be like you. I _dream_ of becoming as strong a fighter as you. I want to become stronger so that I can be like you, and maybe even best you one day," her shoulders slumped. "But how can I do that if I can't even graze the surface in training? I didn't even last long in our sparring match."

A warm smile stretched across Sully's face; hearing her daughter tell her something like that, it made her proud to see the dedication in her. "Kjelle," she says softly, easily catching her daughter's attention, "you lasted longer in my training than any of the trainees that your father and I have to deal with back in Ylisse. Them – _Bah! _They can't run thirty laps around the field in _full armor_ like you did. They can't even last _five minutes_ in a match against me _or_ your pops. Didn't graze the surface, you say? _Pffft!_ Kjelle, you were astounding today."

"Really?"

"Yep," Sully chuckled, brushing away a stray green lock of hair from her daughter's face. "You did good, kid. At the pace you're going, you'll be as tough as me in no time."

The determined spark in Kjelle's eyes had returned. Her mother had given her such a grand compliment; she had to make sure she was worthy of it. "Thanks, Mother."

Sully smirked. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't tell anyone I got all mushy like that, not even your father. I've got a reputation to uphold." She patted Kjelle's back. "Now get inside and give yourself a breather. You earned it."

With a chuckle, Kjelle gathered up the wooden lances and darted for home with her mother following close behind. A feeling of contentment fell over her. With someone as strong as her mother and as resilient as her father, she just knew there was no way they would ever be defeated. Kjelle could count on that.

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><p>Sitting on her father's favorite chair, the wooden one with the carving of a panther done on the back, Kjelle's eyes were glued to the window in their parlor, keeping a keen eye out for the silhouettes of her mother and father as she patiently waited for them to come home from their most recent campaign of the country side. She had gotten a letter from her father not too long ago, telling her that they'd be returning home today, safe and sound and eager to see her face again and other mushy stuff like that.<p>

Though she wouldn't say it out loud, Kjelle was just as eager to see her parents again too. They had been gone for nearly half a month, leaving twelve year-old Kjelle alone in the house with the occasional check-up visit from a few of her parents friends – mostly from Mrs. Cordelia with Severa tagging along and Mr. Donnel and his wife, Nowi. Though she appreciated the visits, Kjelle preferred the company of her parents more, especially since they have been gone for so long. Other than the visits and household chores to keep her occupied, Kjelle used her time alone to train; pushing herself to do more and improve her skills more than the usual, even going as far as waking up at the crack of dawn and training until sunset – with breaks and time to eat and rest. And with her parents returning, she was eager to show off the fruits of her labor to both her mother and father.

Movement caught Kjelle's eye, and the young girl squished herself up against the glass to get a better look through the heavy rain. She gasped, happiness welling up inside of her, as she spotted two people riding horses on their way to her house.

_It's them_, she beamed. _They're here! Mother and Father are home!_

She ripped herself away from the window and jumped off of her father's chair, making a beeline for the door. Immediately, she could hear the sound of the horses drawing near, then stopping, followed by the sound of her parents dismounting and walking up the dirt path to the house.

Kjelle jittered with excitement as she stood in front of the door, waiting to hear the awaited-

_Knock, knock!_

Without a second thought, she wrenched the door open and said, "Mother! Father! Welcome ho—"

She stopped and her eyes went wide. The people standing before her, weren't here parents, but two soldiers, who were drenched from the rain. Both had sullen looks on their faces.

"May I help you?" she asked cautiously.

The taller of the two looked at her, his eyes bearing so much sadness. The cold grip of fear grabbed at Kjelle's heart as a million questions ran through her head, but two questions kept repeating in her thoughts: _Who are these men, and where are my parents?_

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Sir Stahl and Lady Sully were…" He swallowed his words, like it was too painful for him to say.

Kjelle felt anger bubble in her. "Speak up, man! Compose yourself and tell me where my parents are."

The soldier had a look of surprise on his face before it quickly melted back to the look of grief that he bore the moment he arrived at her doorstep. "Sir Stahl and Lady Sully," he repeated, "were killed in action."

Kjelle froze. _What?_

"As our army were marching en route back to the halidom, we were ambushed by a large group of Risen. I-I'm sorry, young lady….but your parents had fallen in the battle."

"My mother…a-and my father, they are—" Kjelle couldn't even bring herself to say the word.

The soldier nodded his head solemnly.

Kjelle felt like someone had just doused ice cold water over her head. Her parents – Ylisse's own Bull and Panther, the Ruby and Viridian Knight – were dead. How can it be?

The second soldier spoke up. "They died with honor. The fought off the brunt of the Risen attack and saved many lives. We were able to recover this for you," he extended his hand, revealing a small pouch in his palm. "We, the Exalt and all of the soldiers in our company offer our condolences."

This felt like a dream. A horrible, horrible dream that she desperately wished she could wake up from. As she received the small pouch of what she had left of her parents, the grief had finally set in. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but she willed them away, wanting to stay strong.

She reached into the pouch and pulled out the memento of her now deceased parents; a ring, her mother's ring. That's all she had left of them, just her mother's ring, nothing to remind her of her father, whose deep forest green eyes always shone with a gentleness to them, who would eat more than he needed to because he was somehow always still hungry, and who'd hold back whenever they sparred because he didn't want to harm her in any way. It was just a ring that had once belonged to the woman she adored and admired, whose strength surpassed all the men in the Shepherds, including the Exalt's – the woman Kjelle wanted to be.

Kjelle couldn't hold in her grief any longer. She fell to her knees, cradling that single gold band in the palms of her hand, and cried.

She didn't have parents anymore. There would be no more mock battles between her and her father out in the field whenever the day was bright and sunny. There would be no more screams of encouragement from her mother whenever she went out to train. Nothing. She was all alone.

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><p><strong>NOTE:<strong> If you liked what you read, feel free to tell me about it in the reviews. If not, you can still type me a review. Share with me your reaction to this segment. Did you cry? Where you shocked? Were you disappointed? Do you think I need to improve on something? Tell me. Critiques and comments are welcome! No hate please, unless it is justified. Thank you. :)


	5. Cynthia

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Twistedwonderland here with the newest installment to _Children Disowned by Time_. I know it's been a while and you have every reason to throw rotten fruit and yell at me for being inactive, and I probably deserve it. Writing, to me personally, isn't something that you can just do on a whim. You need inspiration and the drive to do it...or else what you write will come off as crappy and lazy and just plain _BLEH!_ And I don't want to give you guys that cannon fodder. I want to make sure everything I write is at the best quality that I can possibly give, hence why it takes a while for me to update stories. But enough of that, let's get on with the story! I hope you enjoy Cynthia's segment because I had a ball writing it out.

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><p><span><strong>Skyward Heroine<strong>

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><p><em>"My life in the future? Well, I cared for Mother's pegasus after she...you know. And I trained hard and learned how to fight! ...It was tough without a dad to teach me. But now that we've got the chance, why don't we practice together?"<em>

The sun was beating down on her as she knelt down in the cool grass, hands busied with the task at hand. Carefully, Cynthia weaved the flower stems with practiced ease, a skill that has greatly improved after the countless attempts beforehand. Who knew making flower crowns could be so difficult? Cynthia had to give props to her mother for being so adept at the art of flower crown making, let alone having the patience to teach her how to make her own flower crowns. She remembered her first time failing to keep the flowers tied together, resulting in ripped petals and frustrated screaming.

_How embarrassing,_ Cynthia winced as she recalled the event, but she didn't let her mind drift off. Instead, she quickly focused back on the current flower crown that she'd been making. Already, settled in her lap, was a finished flower crown that was much larger than the one little Cynthia busied herself with. This one had lilies woven together with a small bunch of blue forget-me-nots here and there to give it color. She planned on giving this one to her father once he returned home. The one in her hands that was still in the making was made completely of irises – the flowers of Ylisse and the favorites of her mother.

Her father, a knight of Ylisse who worked closely with the Exalt, had been away for months on a campaign with the Shepherds, a large group of warriors whom she knew were famous for their grand heroics and battle prowess. To know that her father was a part of them and called them his friends made Cynthia's heart swell with pride, for she always thought her father to be a hero and to know that the rest of the kingdom thinks so as well made her heart soar. The sudden call caught both her parents and herself off guard, but duty called and her father had to answer, especially since her mother was already a retired pegasus knight. She remembered seeing him rush to get his armor and weapons, dress himself for the journey and gather needed supplies. She remembered him kissing her mother and hugging her close, whispering a promise to return safe and sound as soon as possible before mounting his horse and disappearing into the horizon.

The day he left was sad, but Cynthia knew he had a duty to his king – every hero does. Cynthia dreamed of being a hero someday. The same kind of hero that her father is – the one with honor, who practiced the chivalric code; a hero who was kind to the innocent and slayed the villains. She knew if she were to become a hero herself, she'd have to toughen up, and her first step was to shed no tears and she accomplished that when her father had to join with the other Shepherds. The next step was to learn how to fight; and once her father returns home today, she will ask for his guidance and he'll teach her the how-tos on becoming a hero. She had even helped take car the pegasi and horses that were in the stables just so she could provide some proof to her father about how responsible she was now, and that she was ready to be trained to be a hero.

A wide grin stretched across her face as she finished her mother's flower crown. Oh! How proud her mother will be once she sees the fruits of her labor, both in making the flower crowns and for doing her daily chores faster than usual today. Even better once her father arrives. Speaking of arrival…

Cynthia looked to the skies and noticed that the sun was already halfway through its slow decent down the horizon.

_Mother did say Father will be returning by late afternoon, _Cynthia recalled what her mother had told her after she had received a letter from a messenger bird about her father's return. _I better get myself back home! Heroes are _never_ late!_

The small brunette girl gathered the two flower crowns before running through the field, nearly tripping over her own legs as she descended from the slope of the hill. Her caramel eyes were bright with excitement. With her father's return came so many promising things – official hero training, someone to help her tie her hair in the morning, more stories of daring deeds and heroic escapades, and so much more! Cynthia was practically jittering with excitement.

The homey wooden cottage that Cynthia was lucky enough to call home soon came into view and the young girl's sharp eyes immediately noticed two dark brown horses lounging about near the front of her home. The horses weren't just regular horses either; they carried shields at their sides and were practically dressed in their own armor.

_War horses,_ Cynthia registered. Slowly, her smile made its way up to her face – her expression as bright as the sun itself. _Father is home!_

She forced herself to run faster, picking up her legs higher and pushing herself forward until she zipped by the stretch of pasture that acted as her backyard and ran right on by the pegasi/horse stables that her mother and father had built together when they bought the cottage years before Cynthia was even born. But how fast she was running didn't stop her from greeting her mother's pegasi. It would be rude if she didn't, and that is very unbecoming of a future hero.

Cynthia pushed the backdoor of the cottage open, the two flower crowns she'd made dangled in her hands. "Mother, is Father—"

Her voice died out as she looked on at what greeted her. Two Ylissean soldiers were standing inside her home, bearing looks of grief and carrying what looked to be a piece of her father's armor, only it was scratched and in terrible condition – not shining and squeaky clean like her father always kept it. Her eyes instantly locked onto her mother, her dear, heroic mother, who was sitting on her favorite wooden chair, the one Father had made her for their anniversary two years ago, hunched over with her hands over her face and her body trembling.

"…home?"

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><p><em>"Yep! My pegasus is the very same one that you used to ride. When my mother was killed back in my time, her pegasus made its way back to me. She told me what Mother said just before she died... "Please, return to Cynthia. Look after her and protect her." She—well, you—sent your pegasus to me so I'd have something to remember you by."<em>

She was tired. She was so, so, _so_ very _tired_.

There was an ache in her bones that just wouldn't go away, even with the danger of battle surrounding her in all directions. From above, she could see Cherche and Minerva with Cordelia and other pegasi knights and wyvern riders clashing with the airborne Risen; and down below on the ground were the other Shepherds, fighting either on foot or on horseback with either a sword, lance, axe or with magic, who fought with a violent vigor in order to keep the uncountable Risen forces at bay while the residents of the village they'd been protecting evacuate to a safer area. Even with all of this going on, Sumia just couldn't get rid of the horrible ache in her body. In fact, she was surprised that she was still capable of sitting upright on her mount.

_Keep it together, Sumia_, she thought to herself. _Stay focused and stand tall. Your friends need you. _Cynthia _needs you back at home!_

The thought of her daughter patiently waiting for her return back in their current home within the stone walls of Ylisstol was enough to wake her up. Her husband's death, despite it being a whole _three years_ since that dreadful day, still weighed heavily on both of their minds. She loved her husband with all of her being and with his death, it felt as if she had lost a part of herself – her other half. Even worse on Cynthia's part, seeing as she looked up to her father and idolized him since the day she was capable of speech. Cynthia had wanted him to teach her how to fight, not her. But it's not like Cynthia refused her offer to learn, but Sumia could see the disappointment – the sadness – in her eyes.

It was too bad, really… Sumia saw the makings of a wonderful Pegasus Knight in Cynthia, but if her daughter wished to follow further in her father's footsteps and become a Great Knight, then she would happily support her without a second thought.

However, decisions like those are still a long ways away. Cynthia didn't need her hovering around midair reveling in fantasies of times to come. She needed her mother _alive_ and intact when she comes home. Sumia needed to stop getting lost in her daydreams and focus more on surviving the battle.

She tightened her grip on the reigns of her mount in one hand and on the shaft of her spear in the other as she swooped down in a white blur. With a precise, well-timed wide-arch swing, she was able to dispatch at least twelve Risen foot soldiers in one attack before shooting back up into the sky to choose her next target. She spotted a Risen myrmidon whose eyes were set on shoving its blade deep into the back of a preoccupied Henry, who was much too busy blasting Risen apart in bright flashes of lightning strikes from his Thoron tome to even notice the oncoming enemy.

With a loud battle cry, she and her pegasus dived downward. The tip of her spear sunk deep into the undead myrmidon's chest in one easy thrust. She swung her spear upwards, cleaving the monster in two just before it had the chance to raise its sword against her. The Risen dispersed in a cloud of purple smoke that stank of rot and death – one of the many reasons why Sumia despised the beings more than anything.

"Are you alright, Henry?" she asked, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"Feelin' just peachy," the white-haired sorcerer chuckled, though his brows were furrowed with concentration as he fired another strike of lightning from the palm of his hand, pages of his tome flipping wildly as the spell was cast. "Really saved me from bein' skewered to death. It would probably be a pretty painful death, but I'd appreciate a death like that at a better time than this."

The way Henry smiled at her would usually send chills down her spine, but this time, it was different. She could see the wear-and-tear in the dark mage; how his hands aren't held up as straight as usual whenever he casted a spell or how his smile and creepy little chortle was more strained. He was as tired as she was in this fight.

Sumia saw his wife was nowhere to be seen – the very thought gave Sumia a sick feeling in her chest – leaving Henry to fend for himself in the battle, hopefully for the time being. The Risen were already beginning to crowd around him before she had came in and slayed the myrmidon. Henry needed all the help he could get to make it out of this battle alive.

Help that Sumia gladly provided.

Without even needing to ask Henry for permission to assist, she had already thrown herself into the action. She kept her pegasus flying low enough for her to nearly be at Henry's back as she swung and thrusted her spear into the chests and heads of every Risen warrior that got within a foot near the duo. While she twirled her silver lance, making quick work of the nearby Risen, Henry removed the ones that stood from afar – archers and warriors bearing throwing axes or lances. Together, they made a pretty good team.

Henry turned to face her. "I can handle the rest of these suckers. Go help Cordelia and Cherche. I think they need their third fighter back."

Glancing back up to the skies where she once was, Sumia could see what Henry meant by that. She could see the silhouettes of Cordelia's pegasus and Minerva circling the skies, each carrying a large trail of aerial Risen who seemed hell-bent on knocking off each of the mounts' individual riders.

"Are you sure?" She knew she was needed back with Cordelia and Cherche, but Henry was all on his own. Who knew what became of his wife and usual battle partner?

As if he could read Sumia's mind, Henry's usually creepy smile faded into a grim line. "Don't worry about me. Now go!"

Without another word, Sumia took to the skies once more. She zipped by three Risen wyvern lords and dispatched them with a skilled swing of her spear, lopping off each of their heads. She removed the throwing lance that she had holstered near her saddle and carefully targeted one of a Dark Rider that dangerously closed in on Cordelia's tail. Sumia threw the spear with all of her strength and watched with mild satisfaction as the weapon slammed into the female Risen's chest, sending it barreling to the ground; its undead mount now flying chaotically without its rider to guide it.

Cordelia dispatched the rest of the Risen that surrounded her with a stream of fire from her Arcfire tome. The red-head glanced upward to meet Sumia's gaze. "Thanks for the rescue—" Her eyes went wide. "Sumia, behind you!"

"Huh?"

_Sshnk!_

Time seemed to have slowed down. Sumia had barely even managed to turn her head before a silver arrow lodged itself deep into the center of her back. She didn't even feel any pain – just the force of the weapon hitting her and a falling sensation.

_Wait_, Sumia blinked and noticed her pegasus getting further and further away from her. _I am falling…_

The pain finally made itself known when her body slammed unmercifully to the ground. It spread through her body like fire in a forest. All she could feel was the pain – nothing else. She tried moving her legs, arms, _fingers_ – nothing. She couldn't move at all. Everything was slowly fading away; her vision was beginning to dim as with the rest of her senses. She could barely even hear the sounds of battle that surrounded her or Cordelia's desperate scream… Or was that Cherche? Henry maybe? She didn't know.

Her pegasus flew down to her side and lowered its head toward her, gently nudging her face as a futile attempt to get her back up on her feet. The small action brought tears in her eyes. Her pegasus – her most loyal friend and most trusted companion, second to her dear husband and…

She gasped. Cynthia… Gods, what would her daughter do now? Sumia knew she was dying – the lull of sleep seemed to tug at her now, only she knew it wasn't sleep that called to her. It was Death. Death was going to claim her, just like he did to her husband, leaving her daughter all alone.

Another nudge from her faithful mount.

She knew what to do.

"Go," she managed to gasp. This was going to be the last command she would ever give to her pegasus. "Go back to her. Go back home to Cynthia. _Please…_" Tears were cascading down her face. The finality of it all finally dawning on her. She will never get to see her daughter again – her smile, the bounce of her hair… Nothing.

Her pegasus neighed in protest, stomping his front hoof down to the ground to say his refusal to leave his rider behind.

Sumia shook her head, a sad smile on her face as she prepared her goodbye. "You can't save me. I'm sorry," she said. "Please, return to Cynthia. Look after her. Protect her. Do it for me…"

Her vision went black. But when she heard the sound of wings flapping into the air and felt a powerful gust of wind blow down on her, she smiled.

* * *

><p>Cynthia rose up from her bed, body sore and eyes still blurred with sleep as she made her way to the front door of the red-stone home that she and her mother currently lived in in Ylisstol. The lazy slams that came from the wooden door grated at her nerves. Whomever was outside was going to get the lecture of a lifetime on how heroes needed their sleep in order to be energized to continue on with their heroic deeds of…heroicness.<p>

She winced. She'll need to work on that later.

_THUMP! THUMP!_

"Alright! Alright! I'm coming," she yelled out as she descended the cold wooden staircase. "Hold your horses. Geez…"

She grabbed the door's iron handle and threw it open with a pout on her face. "Alright – who's knocking at the door this early in the—" Her eyes lit up with recognition. "You're back!"

Cynthia threw her thin little arms around the neck of her mother's pegasus, squealing with joy as she did so. She pulled back and immediately all irritation from being woken up at the crack of dawn completely disappeared.

"I can't believe your home! Did the battle turn out fine? How about the other Shepherds? Did they do good? Was the village saved? Geez, why are you so scratched up? Did the Risen hurt you? Do you need water? Food? A Bath?" Her long motor-mouth questions came to a stop as she realized that a certain someone was missing.

"Where's Mother?"

The pegasus's eyes looked straight into hers. There was only silence as he conveyed his message through a single look in a language that only Cynthia, Sumia and Cordelia could understand.

Cynthia took a shaky step back, the realization finally dawning on her. Her brown eyes traced over every scratch, every wound, and every blemish on the pegasus's coat. Then her gaze fell on a patch of blood that seemed to camouflage itself in the dark coloring of her mother's saddle.

She fell to her knees as hot tears ran down her face, her hands bunched up into tight fists as she crumpled the end of her nightgown in her grip. The only sound that resonated throughout the lonely little red brick home being the sobs of a lonely little girl.

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><p><em>I hope you enjoyed Cynthia's segment! Feel free to leave your thoughts, criticism and "violent" reactions in the reviews for me to see and maybe, if you're lucky, I just might respond to them. Next one up is probably going to be one of my favorites since the star will be Cordelia's hotblooded daughter, Severa! So keep your eyes peeled for that. Until next time! Thank you for reading. :)<em>


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